Reprise
by Morcar
Summary: I'll tell you that it's post season 7, but beyond that you'll have to work out for yourself. It's intentially a little obtuse but not absurdly so.
1. Allusions

_Reprise_

* * *

It is between three and four a.m. and an old soldier stirs in her sleep. This is no cause for comment, as strange hours go part and parcel with her chosen calling. She has not had a full nights sleep in as long as she cares to recall, so it does not come as an absolute surprise to her when she is awoken by a figure at her side. It is a woman. A girl really, but then they hadn't been much more than children back in the day when you think about it. It is a woman she has not seen in a long while, and one she would hazard that she is not seeing now.

"I thought you were dead"

The woman, the girl smiles with a look of near joy in her eyes that the old soldier could scarcely recall having seen.

"Hasn't it clicked yet?"  
"No. I mean I thought you were dead. I know that she is"  
"No, you're thinking of..." a beat, a shift and the girl is gone, replaced by a cheerful looking older man, a little thinning on top "... my predecessor. You... you took care of him just dandy with that little talisman, just the right thing at the right time. No I'm something else. I'm what comes after."

* * *

An ocean away, an old witch-woman is paying a visit to a friend who won't even know she's there. She has developed a taste for tea since first coming to these shores some twenty five years ago, and she sips it calmly while she talks about her day to a man who can't recall his own name. Like the soldier, she keeps strange hours, and does things few would ever believe had to be done, and so she too is quite unfazed when a girl, a different girl this time, long hair and soft blue eyes and a smile like nothing else appears before her. She does not flinch, and when she speaks there is an almost unnatural calm in her voice.

"It has been nearly thirty years and she has not spoken to me. Whoever you are, show me another shape or go."  
"Are you sure... I mean" she, or it, or whatever glances at the floor, stumbling over her words "haven't you... a part of you I mean... haven't you wanted..."  
"Another shape. Or go." A note of menace creeping into the carefully modulated voice. The girl shifts. Taller, male, peroxide hair.  
"Suit yourself pet." The apparition lights a cigarette slowly  
"You're not it. We killed it. You're something else."  
"That's right."  
"But you're like it. You're the same sort of... thing"  
"Witch is on a roll. Can I tell you, or you still want to guess?"  
"You replaced it. You're..." a moment, looking for the _mot juste_ "The Second" a pause, almost an embarrassed smile "only, you know, less lame-sounding"  
"Nearly there love." the apparition takes a drag on the cigarette, and a slow smile spreads across its face. "I'm the Last" 

* * *

The old soldier is pacing about her bedroom incredulous, speaking low for fear of waking her husband.

"So you're... 'the Last'... and you're here to finish what he started. You're too late"  
"I'm not here to finish what he started. You did that for him." The thing calling its self the Last had settled in the form of a man the soldier recalled but had never actually met. He had been, she knew, the love of her sister's life, and she remembered every detail of their affair. But she never really met him.  
"So, what you're here to try to annoy us all to death? That could have worked when I was sixteen but since then I've killed things that were stronger than you, scarier than you, more dangerous and less deserving than you. You can't trick me or confuse me or touch me."  
"Okay. No need to be so defensive. I'm not here to to hurt you or taunt you. I'm not here to show how truly evil I am."  
"So what are you here for?"  
"To parlay"  
"To what?"  
"Parlay."  
"You're kidding"  
"No." A shift, and he is a lank haired man in priestly garb "you ever read the book of Revelations, little girl?"  
"Little Girl? I'm older than you"  
"Well technically I'm eternal"  
"Technically so am I now cut the crap"  
"Says it right there little... lady. Bowls of the wrath of the lord shall turn the seas to blood and the lakes to wormwood"  
The old soldier raises an eyebrow. "Another apocalypse"  
"Not like the others"  
"Because I haven't heard that before"  
"It's not like the others, little lady, because this time I know I'm not gonna win"  


* * *

In the quiet sunlit room in the green and pleasant land, the witch-woman has not let slip her carefully measured facade.

"How is that new. You never win"  
"The difference pet, is that usually we never win, and neither do you. That's the rules, the way it goes. Eternal struggle, good and evil right up until the end and in the end..." a pause, another wry smile "in the end good triumphs, once and for all"  
"Remind my why that's a bad thing"  
"Oh don't come that with me. You know what it would mean. You know that if it all ends, whoever wins nothing you love is going to make it out."  
"How do I know you're not lying?"  
"You know the rules pet. No lies, just deception. I'm eternal I'm everywhere, and nothing I say is other than what is"  
"So why are you coming to me?"  
"Because it's what you do. The hero thing. Eleventh hour, save the day. You beat us every time, do the same to them."  
"You still haven't told me who 'them' is" a beat "Are. Whatever"  
"Just demons. Mostly."  
"Tell me something that narrows it down or stop bothering me"  
"There's rules"  
"There's always rules. Tell me."  
"Forces are gathering..."  
"Perhaps I should rephrase. Tell me something _useful_"  
"Two guys, two girls, a host of critters and an army of men."  
"And?"  
"And what? And nothing. They're pure. Really pure. I can't touch them"  
"You can't touch anything"  
"I can't see them, I don't know what they're doing"  
"And that scares you."  
"Of course it bloody scares me. I'm bloody omniscient aren't I. I've never not known anything before"  
"So you want me to do your donkey work"  
"No..." a moment, a brief look of what could almost be distraction "You're about to get a call from America. Take it". And with that, the apparition is gone, and there is a ringing from the witch-woman's back pocket. 

* * *

Alone again in a house in California, the old soldier makes an international call at stupid o'clock in the morning. Lesley would complain about the bill but he knew that there were more important things. He was good like that. 

* * *

In a jazz club in West London a woman who has not been known to speak for as long as anybody can remember plays mute trumpet to a smoke-filled hall. As she plays she remembers an appointment she has with some old friends. She finishes her set early and leaves, humming a few bars to herself as she goes. In the gentlemen's toilets, for the briefest of moments, the taps run red. 

* * *


	2. Suggestions

Reprise Chapter Two 

* * *

In the tastefully furnished house in California, dawn is breaking. The old soldier is making preparations for a journey. She travels light and unarmed because these days people seemed to pay more attention to broadswords on city streets. Besides there would be metal detectors at the airport. Twenty five years ago this would have been so much easier, they would have had allies in their multitudes. Slayers by the dozens, a tight knit gang who would walk into hell for one another if it came to that. But now her sister is dead, so are all of the new slayers. Faith is missing presumed. Just her and the witch and a man who doesn't know what day it is. A small bag packed she slips back into her bedroom and gently shakes her husband awake.

"Lesley"  
"Hmm" the man is nowhere near waking yet  
"Lesley I have to go to England. Right now"  
"Whaa..." the dawn of realization hits like a glass of cold water in the face "To England? Now?"  
"I've got to see..."  
"I know who you've got to see. Why can't she come here?"  
"She can't leave Giles"  
"But you can leave me?"  
"You don't need..."  
"What? What don't I need? I don't need to be taken into account at all?"  
"I never... look its too early for all this."  
"_You're_ the one who woke _me_ up."  
"I'm going. I have to. You know that."  
"I know. Just go. Cancel the milk if you have the time. When will you be back?"[1]  
"I..."  
"You don't know. I know. Go. Save the world. I'll be waiting. Like always."  
"I know" 

And with that the old soldier takes her bag, writes a short note about milk, and walks out into the dawn. 

* * *

The woman who has never spoken as long as any can recall has left London and arrived sooner than any have the right to arrive in a city to the absolute west. In the City of Angels she walks amongst the downtrodden and forgotten until she finds the one she seeks. He is slumped in a doorway unwashed and unshaven, his eyes such as they were are naught but a mass of scar tissue. He turns his face towards the lady as she approaches.

"Already?"  
She nods.  
"You have brought the others?"  
Shakes her head. Inclines it slightly, and smiles.  
"I'm flattered." With some effort the eyeless man clambers to his feet. "Who's next?"  
The woman puts two fingers to her lips, brings her hands together and then apart in a flowing, undulating motion. She smiles again.  
"Her? Already? Well if you're sure"  


* * *

In the house in England the witch-woman busies herself with trivialities. There is still much to be done after all. She cleans up after her old mentor, and makes the necessary preparations to withdraw a large amount of money quickly. She sends email, although she is not entirely comfortable with the more modern machines, she writes letters to those who she feels need a more personal touch, and so the day passes. 

* * *

The old soldier is over the Atlantic in an aircraft. Beside her an empty seat is taken up by the apparition, the Last. He has taken the form of a weasel-faced, slightly mad eyed man with spiked hair, and the soldier is beginning to wonder if in his twisted way he is trying to set her at her ease by taking the shape of a man she was not saddened to be reminded was dead.

"I used to have a recurring nightmare. Back in the day."  
"I know."  
"Oh yeah you do the whole 'darkness at the heart of all' thing."  
"Still... go on it breaks up the journey"  
"It was like... Giles would come in and say 'Buffy' - because Buffy was always there in my dream - 'something terrible is going to rise up and destroy the world', and we'd say - she'd say - 'oh my god when, where?' and then he'd say 'tonight, in Kuala Lumpur'. And we'd all realise that there was nothing we could do to get there in time"  
"You know if I wasn't omniscient I'd say you were making that up."  
"Why did they always come to Sunnydale anyway?"  
"Hellmouth. Confluence of mystic energies. Plus my predecessor was there - or at least focused his attention there. You know people are looking at you like you're nuts." A shift, and the apparition is a well groomed man wearing a hat and coat, and carrying another over his arm "Well you see Doctor Chumley I'd like to introduce you to somebody..."  
"I hadn't thought about that before. You can be any dead person you want. You could look like Monroe or Valentino or... you know I don't know if I can take that seriously."  
The Last shifts back to its earlier form. "I _am_ the embodiment of all evil you know. You could treat me with a little respect"  
"What are you doing on this 'plane anyway? I mean don't you have somewhere else to be?"  
"I'm there too. Omnipresent remember. So, yeah the party line is that I'm tormenting you with images from your past"  
"And the non-party line?"  
"I like the company. And don't try to think about how that works with my previous remark about being everywhere because it kinda doesn't okay"  
"You know, we're very much alike, you and I."  
"Say what now?"  
"Both beings of world girdling power trapped in human form, or in your case in the shadow of human form. Both still living in the shadows of our elder siblings. Both..."  
"Couldn't make it to three could you?"  
"It was just a thing. And I still think I'm onto something or you wouldn't be here"  
"You think I've got a thing about you?"  
"You're evil, I'm married. Only natural. Supernatural."  
"You're one weird lady"  
"Look at my childhood and tell me I should be normal"  
"You didn't have..."  
"Exactly" 

And so the flight continues, speeding towards the sunrise. Some hours later it will arrive in England. The 'plane is met by the old witch-woman, and the meeting between the witch and the soldier is as between two who have said all that needs to be said long, long ago. They proceed in silence to the home of the witch, and it is not until they are inside, sat down and staring at unwanted cups of tea that the silence is broken. 

"Do you trust it" asks the soldier, although she knows the answer well enough.  
"Not an inch. But I believe it. I don't think it can lie."  
"Then you think we should work with it?"  
"I never said that. But yes, I do. I spent my life trying to keep this sorry world alive, so did he" she gestures upstairs "so did your sister and so have you. We've been beyond good and evil since I don't know when and if we have to work alongside the..."  
"Source of all that is dark and corrupt and... well... evil in the world?"  
"Then we have to." as she finishes, the old witch-woman raises a cup of rapidly cooling tea to her lips more from habit than thirst.  
"So who do we have on our side?"  
"Us."  
"Just us?"  
"You and me both nearly destroyed the world. Us is a lot."  
"And there's no others?"  
"The whole Slayer line has ended thanks to... well you know"  
"We did what we had to"  
"We still should have thought about it"  
"We were kids." A pause. More staring into cups of tea. "You know you've got really _British_." another pause. "What about Xan... I mean Alex?"  
"Still won't return my letters. Can't say as I blame him."  
"It was _years_ ago."  
"Some things you don't just forgive and forget."  
"Okay, any others we might be able to get on our side?"  
"Faith's still MIA, she's probably dead by now. I wrote to the Coven today."  
"The one in Cornwall?"  
"They're the ones. They still don't entirely trust me, but then I still don't entirely trust myself. I don't know how they'll react if I just show up and say 'hey, I'm throwing in my lot with the ultimate evil, wanna join me?'. But they're still some of the strongest women... the strongest people that I've ever seen, and we could use them onside."  
"And that's it?"  
"I'm chasing a couple of leads I don't hold much hope for but... yeah barring any of the convenient resurrections which we seem to get every few years that's all we have"  
"So what now?"  
"Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow we start the ol' Scoobyin' " 

* * *

In a high and desolate place, the woman who does not speak, and the man whose eyes are scars stand with their faces to the wind. She places one finger to her lips and waits. The wind rises, she smiles, bring her hands together, and nods. He speaks.

"It Is Time."

There is a movement in the air, and a sound like the beating of wings. 

* * *

[1] It has been brought to my attention that milk is no longer delivered in most of America. Being English I was unaware of this and am likely to make similar mistakes again. I beg your indulgence and ask that you assume any such out of place Englishisms are the result of nearly thirty years of cultural cross-pollination. If you don't buy that, think of it as revenge for Quentin Travers' suit and Molly's accent. 


	3. Implications

* * *

In an office building on the island of Malta a man named Gabriel is being informed that there are some people downstairs who wish to see him. He asks for them to be sent away but they will apparently not take no for an answer. He wonders idly to himself what he's done to deserve this sort of treatment. Hadn't he turned his Order around 180 degrees in his tenure as Heirophant-General of the Knights of Byzantium. Under the old regime they'd worn _chainmail_ for goodness' sake, who used _chainmail_ after the fourteenth century. He'd done away with all that bumph. Swords out, pens in. He could do more to thwart the plans of the forces of darkness with one well placed 'phone call than his predecessors had managed with a thousand men weighed down by steel. Of course at times there _was_ need for more... strenuous methods, but that's what the black ops unit was for. He'd even tried to get official passports like the Knights of St John had [1], but no such luck.

The door opens, and a man and two women walk in. In most offices people looking like this lot - one looking like he'd been living on the streets for three years, another under a heavy and misshapen black cloak and the third glancing about inquisitively with an almost beautific look on her face - would have been cause for confusion. Gabriel, however, was quite accustomed to such visitations. He pours himself a glass of water from the jug on his desk and sips at it cooly as he watches them enter. He pauses a moment and then speaks 

"Demons then? I suggest you leave or be dealt with. Do you really think we're that easy to assault?"  
The quiet woman, the one who looks about like a child, laughs. It is a gentle laugh, a beautiful chiming laugh, as of an Angel watching the follies of men with some amusement. On Gabriel's desk the jug of water blossoms into red-brown.  
"Who are you?"  
"The future" says the figure beneath the cloak, in a voice like the rushing of wind and falling of stars  
"Your future" continues the ragged, eyeless one. "And your past."  
"Is riddling back in fashion in Hell then?"  
"No riddles." the voice from beneath the cloak is like the march of armies and the death of mountains  
"And we are not _from_ Hell." continues the ragged man  
"Then where?"

And in answer there is light. 

* * *

The soldier and the witch wake to a crisp and bracing dawn. The witch fries bacon for three, cutting one serving up into small managable pieces. The soldier, meanwhile, rummages through the cupboards in search of something

"You got any coffee? I can't start my day without a cup these days."  
"There's some Gold Blend in the one on your left."  
"Some what?"  
"Taster's Choice, it's what they call it over here."  
"Anything that isn't freeze dried?"  
"No. Sorry. The smell of coffee brewing upsets Giles, I'm not sure why. I think he associates it with Sunnydale. The Espresso Pump and all"  
"So what are we doing today?"  
"A girl from my local wicca group is coming by to keep an eye on Giles. We're going to see the Coven"  
"Are they on our side?"  
"That's what I want to find out"  
"Hang on. You've got a local wicca group?"  
"They do have witches in England."  
"No, I mean, why aren't you asking them to..."  
"To join with the ultimate evil and get themselves killed in an attempt to save the world? I don't know maybe I'm just selfish enough to want to keep their blood off my hands"  
"So... this girl...?"  
"Is all of twenty years old and I would be a bad, bad woman for even thinking about it."  
"You should have somebody."  
"Of my last five girlfriends one died in my arms, one died as a _direct_ result of my actions two left me because they couldn't handle the danger and one left because the thought I spent too much time with Giles. It's the Curse of Sunnydale High, we don't get to have normal relationships"  
"I broke the curse, so did Xa... Alex."  
"_You_ only went to SDH for a few months so the curse didn't take. Alex had his share of troubles. More than his share."

At this point the doorbell rings.

"That'll be Sarah"  
"The girl?"  
"The girl"

It is, indeed Sarah. She is a terribly sincere looking young lady dressed in earth tones. Her manner switches between bubbly and buisinesslike seemingly at random. Her accent is the same upper crust home counties patois which seemed to have been a prerequisite for admission to the old Watcher's Council.

"H'lo Miss R. Sorry I'm early but you know how it is, you get so used to underestimating how long it'll take you to get places that you wind up overestimating the amount you usually underestimate by and being early for everything..." she laughs, slightly self-conciously.  
"Thanks for doing this Sarah."  
"Oh no problem. Used to do the same for my old gran until she passed on last year. Besides Ruper's a sweetie really."  
"You'll be okay all day on your own?"  
"Oh absolutely. I've got an article on the relevance of Gardenerian philosophy to modern day Paganism to write for the newsletter."  
"Oh good. Well you know where everything is. Help yourself to food and tea and everything. You've still got an account on my computer if you want to use it for anything"  
"Will do Miss R. Incidentally have you thought about getting a new computer at all, because _nobody_ uses Apple these days."  
"I'll stay with what I know, I think. You get like that at my age"  
"Age is relative Miss R, always said so."  
"Maybe. Oh what am I... Sarah, this is Dawn Charteris, an _old_ friend of mine from America, Dawn this is Sarah Parris from my wicca group."  
Hellos are exchanged between the two, and then the witch and the soldier leave the house and head off in the direction of public transport. It is a good few moments before the soldier breaks the silence.  
"She _so_ wants you"  
"Please. I'm more than twice her age."  
"Exactly. Experienced older woman, sexy mid-atlantic accent, able to shoot lightning out her fingertips..."  
"She dosn't even call me by my first name."  
"Because people are _never_ awkward around people they like..."  
"She calls me Miss R, she sounds like an English Fonzie."  
"Sure, if the Fonz wanted to jump Mrs Cunningham's bones."  
"Please don't I've read the slash fic"  
"What... no don't tell me I really don't want to know"  
"Let's just say I could never hear him say 'Heeyyy' again"  
"Eww. Eww eww eww. She still wants you 'though..." 

* * *

In Malta, a man named Gabriel lies on the floor and weeps for joy. His tattoo, the mark of the Knights of Byzantium, burns with a pure white fire. His visitors have gone, leaving only the certainty of the mission. His patrons, meanwhile, have moved on to their next target. 

* * *

An early train to Westbury. The Witch and the Soldier talk _sotto vocce_ so as to avoid the worst of the disapproving looks.

"So what do you think the Coven will say?"  
"I don't know. Witches have always been... standing between if you know what I mean. Practicing the black arts for high purpose. But this time. This time they may say I've gone too far."  
"It's saving the world. They can't object to us saving the world."  
"I hope so." There is silence for some while and then. "Trains are magic, you know that?"  
"You mean they seem magic or they _are_ magic - like the Hogwarts express or something."  
"Are. You step in at one end, and a whirl of sights and sounds go past, and you step out somewhere totally different with no real idea how you got there."  
"So you mean they feel magic."  
"Feels. Is. Where magics involved it's not always easy to tell the difference."  
"What _are_ you talking about?"  
"Just makin' conversation."  
"Can we go back to talking about girls?"  
"No."  
The train speeds on, telegraph poles and trees in equal number flashing past the window. Periodically people elsewhere in the carriage will find it absolutely impossible to go another moment without informing their wives and coworkers of their presently train-bound status. The witch and the soldier talk of nothing. Presently the train arrives at Westbury.

"Now _this_ is what England is supposed to look like"  
"Giles always had a fondness for it. Not many places like it left now."  


The two proceed on foot over the kinds of rolling pasture that you normally see only in postcards and paintings. They clamber across stiles, cheerfully ignore signs saying "Beware of the Bull" and sit by dry stone walls to rest. You could, if you allowed yourself, quite forget in a place like this that the world was soon to be rent by the war to end all wars. As they cross their twelfth stile, and the sense of calm and tranquility begins to give way to frustration and muddiness, they espy an old woman waiting by a gate. The witch approaches. 

"Elder" she half nods, half curtseys.  
"Child" for she is old enough still to be the witches mother.Her voiceis softand almost melodious, albeit edged with age.  
"You know why I'm here." And the tone is caught midway between statement and question.  
"We know what you propose."  
"And?"  
"And we council you against such action."  
"It's our only hope."  
"There is always hope, child."  
"If the world ends?"  
"Even then. Perhaps."  
"What?" interjects the soldier. "If the world ends then that's it."  
"No child." and the Elder stops for a moment, and looks at the soldier ascance "or whatever you are. No if the world ends that will be far from 'it'"  
"You don't mean..." the witch trails off as things become clear.  
"I do mean, child. I mean most wholeheartedly. No pain, no fear, no doubt. A world without suffering, without death or sadness. A world bathed in light and joy. Think on it."  
"And all the people who will die? What about all the things that don't fit in with a world of light and joy? Do those just get rubbed out?"  
"Sacrifice child. Sacrifice. And really what is the alternative? To strike a pact with darkness? To embrace evil, no matter how high your purpose, is folly."  
"So this is it. You've chosen sides." Again not quite a statement, not quite a question.  
"As have you. But it is not too late for you child. Not quite yet at any rate. You listened to us once, will you not do so again?"  
"No. I can't. I don't have the right to decide that it's time for some new age of light and glory."  
"Nor do you have the right to decide that it is not, and yet you place yourself in the hands of the one who lies with truth. I am truly sorry child, but it seems you really would have been better had we killed you when first you came to us."  
"So..." the soldier begins "what now?"  
"That's kind of up to the Elder." The witch turns to her old teacher. "You know I'm stronger than you. Probably stronger than all of you."  
"Not here child. Not in our place of power."  
"Do you want to risk the fight?"  
"Have you really fallen so far child? We still will not defile this ground with blood. Particularly that of one who was once dear to us, and one who came on peaceful terms."  
"Then we may go."  
"You may go unmolested. Should you return you will find quite another welcome."  
"I never thanked you enough for everything you did for me when I came here, I don't think I ever could. Goodbye. You know of course that if we ever meet again..."  
"Only one will walk away. Count on it." 

And so the two depart, somewhat more dispirited, and considerably muddier. They prroceed in silence until they are back on the train

"Okay, that was weird"  
"What was weird?"  
"You, and her and the 'You understand... Yes of course...' you witches are really scary people."  
"The Elder and I know better than to try to change each other's minds, and if we are to be enemies then we are both resigned to that."  
"You've started talking like her too."  
"She meant a lot to me. Still means a lot to me."  
"So what now?"  
"We go home, we go to bed, and then we go to Istanbul."  
"You're kidding, right..." Silence. "...you're not kidding." 

* * *

[1] Interesting piece of Trivia. The Knights of Saint John of Malta do in fact have their own passports. How cool is that.


	4. Indications

Reprise, Part 4 

* * *

In a small town in france there is an unremarkable front door. On the other side of that door there are three elements which would stand out should some curious individual bother to step inside. The first thing they would notice would be the paintings. Portraits all although some are more abstract than others (or depict people who are in fact composed entirely of right angles and cylinders which, in a world bordered by unlimited esoteric demon-dimensions, cannot be entirely ruled out). The last thing they would notice would be the young man who, you could correctly surmise, painted the various portraits and who is even now seated at an easel and quietly drawing a painting of a woman in her late forties whose hands spill green light. He is of unparalelled beauty, to look upon him once is to die happy. Which goes some what to explain why he is the _last_ thing people notice in the house, and why the second is a dead man lying on the floor of his studio with a look of absolute rapture frozen to his face. The man sits at his canvas, a picture of relaxation which is unaltered by the sudden appearance from some previously unseen locale of three unlikely individuals. He smiles a smile that breaks hearts and minds as he turns to greet them. 

"My _esteemed_ siblings. Welcome, welcome a thousand times welcome to... bugger me what's she doing here?" so saying he indicates the misshapen cloaked figure.  
"What. Pray. Do you mean by that?" asks the figure in a voice like the fall of empires and the loss of innocence  
"What I _mean_ is why have I been called last amongst our company? Voice-of-Skies I demand an explanation for this, this... outrage. What _possessed_ you to go to this _harridan_ before me?"  
The woman who has never spoken in living memory sighs inaudibly, raises an eyebrow, and makes the "wanker" sign[1]  
"I see. Always been known for your plain speaking haven't you Voice-of-Skies."  
If looks could kill, and were he mortal, and not _far_ better at the "killing with a glance" game than she was, then the man of exquisite beauty would be cut down in his prime by the look Voice-of-Skies now sent winging in his general direction.  
"If we can stop bickering for twelve seconds" interjects the eyeless man. "I would remind you that we have a war to start and to win. We have already made our cause known to the Knights of Byzantium and the English witches. The number of players in this game is smaller than once it was and..."  
"Hold on. Not _only_ did you leave me until last in this little matter but you also went and spoke to people without me? You know that people are my favorite part..."  
"Shut up. They key seems to have declared against us and this is unfortunate. Further she has allied herself with a sorceress of immense power. This really could go against us in the final reckoning and that my brother, my sisters, is not to be countenanced."  
"I really don't understand why the Last is bothering. I mean surely his name is a dead giveaway. He's going to lose this one and there is nothing but nothing but nothing he can do about it."  
"You've really never heard of tempting fate have you."  
"My good man, I tempt _everything_ it's rather in my nature I'm afraid."  
"It is bothering because _somebody_ thought it would be a good idea for nothing to be set in stone, and so It can get out of Its inevitable destruction if It plays Its cards right."  
"So what do we do now? If you're planning on telling me at all that is."  
The answer comes from within the misshapen cloak, in a voice like the drowning of cities. "We up the ante." 

* * *

It is a mere day after the meeting in Westbury, but the witch and the soldier are well enough used to travel. Never the less there has been an awful lot of dashing about in recent days and it is beginning to tell. It is perhaps natural then that the two should take the journey to Istanbul as an opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep. And so it is that the witch comes to find herself on a mountain peak overlooking what she knows in that irrational way to be all of the kingdoms of the world, although it kind of looks like a big desert. There are four people standing with her. 

"And all of this will I give to you, if you will but bow down and worship me..." begins the first, a man tall and slender and wearing what appears to be full mourning including a heavy veil.  
"Or was it Helen of Troy?" asks the second, ragged and eyeless. "Your soul for one kiss is a heavy price."  
"There are those who've given more for less." The witch defiant more out of habit than anything else.  
"You were bought." says the third, in a voice like a forest fire.  
"And we'd rather like to know what It gave you" continues the first.  
"A choice"  
"Oh for goodness sake. Please don't tell me you're trying to be _noble_ about this. You _are_ siding with darkness don't forget." The man in the veil sounds almost petulant  
"Are there _no_ primal powers out there with even a _hint_ of gravitas? That is what you four are, right, primal powers. The forces of good and light and justice here to scourge this sorry world back to the bedrock."  
At this the lady who has never spoken, who has been called Voice-of-Skies amongst other names laughs like a school bell on the last day of term, and the sky bleeds.  
"You have the right of it" replies the eyeless man. "We are indeed as you say. But will you not listen to our side of the story?"  
"This world is full of so much suffering? Heard it. Said it in fact."  
"Nothing nearly so simple." the voice from beneath the cloak is as the drawing of a sword in anger. "This world began in darkness. It moves ever towards light. We are but the next step on a path that is right and just."  
"To put it another way" comes the voice from behind the veil "Your rather unsavory little monkey race is to us and the things we herald what you are to the Demons. We are the future, and the future is beautiful if only you would see it. And if you don't see it, well then I'm rather afraid that you will go the way of so many others"  
"But you could see it" they eyeless man smiles as he speaks. "You could see the light in all of its glory"  
"Let all your sins be burned and purged away" and the voice is like a dozen declarations of war.  
At this, Voice-of-Skies steps forwards and, like a priest administering some unorthodox blessing, takes the witch's head gently in her hands and kisses her eyes.  
The change in the witch is immediate and dramatic. Her eyes cloud over black, her hair swiftly follows suit, a wind rises and Voice-of-Skies steps back wearing a faint look of shock. When the witch speaks her voice is measured and restrained, like one whose mind is bent entirely on some great effort of will.  
"My sin" she begins "is part of who I am. I can't be forgiven, can't be absolved. What I have done I would do over. I have no place in your world. You have no place in mine."  
"Insolence. Foolishness. Why do you oppose us when we would make of your world a paradise?"  
"Heaven is for the stars and the dead. Let it stay where it belongs"  
"It is _so_ like your kind to fear the unknown and the unfamiliar." the voice behind the veil more petulant than ever "Fine then, take your choices and be damned. 'Tis a pity..."

And with that the four are gone, the pinnacle crumbles and the witch is cast into darkness.

The dreams of the soldier at this time were equally troubled, but with the concerns of the past rather than the present. She is no stranger to such dreamscapes, and our present narrative will not be served by dwelling on the details of her subconcious theatre. Suffice to say that her dreams concern past affairs, lost children and the nature of doors. 

* * *

In a chapter house in Istanbul seven members of the Knights of Byzantium are organizing what could be euphemistically described as a welcome wagon. It would be more accurate and more honest to describe it as a conspiracy to commit assault with a deadly weapon. A number of deadly weapons. They used knives these days, nasty brutal efficient things. Swords were more stylish and held certain associations of righteousness which served the knightly image but when you got right down to it they weren't what you wanted to take somebody out in a modern city and get away with it. 

Not all of the old guard have been entirely comfortable with the new direction the order has taken. There are those who feel that the order has lost its way since the power of the Beast was broken in spite of the failure of their brethren to destroy the Key. Several such traditionalists are to be found in what is still called the Constantinople Chapter. And they have found, in recent days, a voice. 

* * *

The witch and the soldier disembark. They have both slept but fitfully and are not at their best.

"I've just noticed something"  
"Hmm?"  
"You didn't tell me what we're doing here."  
"You came didn't you."  
"You're a hard woman to ignore." 

Silence reigns. They walk further into the city. The witch seems to know where she's going, although the soldier would swear she'd never been here before. 

"You haven't answered me."  
"No. I haven't."  
"Why not?"  
"Because I've got used to being alone except for people who won't say a word against me."  
"Oh."  
"Sorry. It's just... y'know... old habits."  
"You really remind me of big sis sometimes."  
"Good remind or bad remind?"  
"Little of both. Like the way you... are about to be jumped on by seven guys with knives..." 

The two, who have by now wandered into an older and more out of the way part of the city are indeed about to be jumped on by seven men with knives. They wear black despite the heat and bear the mark of the Knights of Byzantium. The witch and the soldier shift instinctively into "about to get attacked by superior numbers" formation, back to back and sorely wishing for some armaments. 

"Can you take them?" whispers the soldier urgently over her shoulder  
"Yes, but I don't want to go all black eyes if I can help it" 

The knights circle, looking for an opening. 

"Define 'help it'"  
"They can cut me to ribbons, not you"  
"Umm... thanks?" 

The knights move inwards and then, at some signal only they can see, four break formation and fall on the other three. The fight, one side having both numbers and surprise on their side is both short and brutal. 

"What the..?"  
One of the surviving Knights turns to the witch and the solder "They were heretics. Departed from the true way. We serve our last true general and he tells us you are not to be molested. He tells us you have a part to play. He tells us that the Key and its allies are no longer a threat, now the power of the Beast is broken."  
"Oh. Well that's... good"  
The knight pauses, inclines his head as if listening to something. "There is a matter I must attend to." He turns to his fellows. "Come". So saying, they depart, leaving the witch and the soldier quite alone.  
"So... what got into them?"  
As if from nowhere a large, bald man in chain mail bearing the mark of the Knights of Byzantium appears. "That's easy. I did."  
"What did you do?" asks the soldier, a note of uncertainty or even anger in her voice.  
"What I do. I turned them against one another, told them nothing they did not after a sense know already and played off their frailties and their weaknesses. Much like my predecessor failed so spectacularly to do with you"  
"So you tricked a group of holy men into believing that God's will was yours and set them at one another's throats."  
"In a word. Yes. Perhaps I should take this opportunity to remind you that I _am_ the embodiment of all evil."  
"I know." She sounds quite defeated. "And you _did_ save our lives so... thanks"  
"Mrs. Charteris, your thoughts betray you. But surely you know that."  
"I won't pretend I like this situation."  
"No, you're pretending you can tolerate it. You could change sides you know. It may make you feel better."  
"Why are you trying to talk me into turning against you?"  
"Force of habit I think. exhortations to treachery are rather my _raison d'etre_. Of course it could be part of my master plan." and with that the Last disappears.  
"Having second thoughts?"  
"It's just... actually seeing what It _did_ to those people. It can't be right."  
"Have you seen what it's fighting against?"  
"No."  
"I have. They came to me. They're worse. Far worse. They're... they're destruction"  
"Is that worse than corruption?"  
"At least people get a choice." 

The pair proceed in silence down diverse twisting streets and alleys. Finally they come to the place the witch appears to have been leading them all along. It is a small ramshackle building, a front door half off its hinges is shaded by a tattered awning that was probably red once. The witch pushes the door open and steps inside, the soldier following her and trying to suppress the all too familiar feeling of being the out-of-the-loop sidekick. Inside a man sits cross legged on the floor. He has changed almost beyond recognition since the witch saw him last. His head is shaved, his face as passive as ever, but now he seems tranquil where he was once just laid back. He still, the witch notes, wears the same beaded charm around his left hand as when last they met. He looks up at the pair from the shadows as they walk in. 

"Hey." he says, untroubled, unperturbed, unflustered.  
"Hey. Been looking for you."  
"Been waiting. When'd you get into town?"  
"Around about now." 

* * *

[1] For the American audience, remember in Hush when Buffy is trying to communicate "Can I kill the Gentlemen with a Stake?". That gesture. 


	5. Confrontations

Reprise, part 5 

* * *

In central California a man with one eye reads for the seventeenth time a letter from a woman whose name he will not allow to be spoken in his presence. She says something big is going on. Something apocalyptically big. Something old days big. She asks him to call, to write, something. Not for the first time he is fleetingly tempted by the idea of giving in. But only fleetingly. He sits and stares into the middle distance. He will, he knows, at some point have to get up and do something productive. But not quite now. Like so many of our diverse protagonists he is well used to the unnusual and esoteric. Unlike the others he has not seen much of it in more recent years and so he is a little taken aback when he finds himself confronting four intruders. 

"She's telling the truth you know. As far as she knows."  
"The world's ending?"  
"Worlds end"  
"And why does she need me?"  
"You know the answer."  
"She doesn't need me. Nobody does."  
"But they did. Once. Three people at least. Such a blow."  
"It wasn't her fault."  
"You didn't say that then. And you don't mean it now."  
"She did what she had to."  
"She had no choice?"  
"No. She had a choice. She chose and... and what are you doing here?"  
"_We_ need you. My brother, my sisters and I."  
"Why, you need your dimension dry walled?"  
"You know her. You know what she's capable of."  
"I know _exactly_ what she's capable of."  
"Which is why we hope you'll be on our side."  
"She's... I mean she thinks that... she doesn't even."  
"Precisely. She doesn't understand. We feel you could."  
"Understand what?" 

The mass of scar tissue that should have been the speaker's eyes parts. Where there should have been eyes, or the remains of eyes there is instead a light glorious and pure and holding wonders and beauties that are not for mortal men to see. 

"This." 

* * *

In Istanbul a reunion between old lovers is taking place with a notable lack of passion on either side. Air which could have been full of what-ifs and might-have-beens is filled instead with the buzzing of flies. They have, in a sense, been waiting for this moment for the last thirty years. In another, more accurate sense, they have spent thirty years becoming very different people to the ones they were at their last meeting. 

"So... what'cha been up to?"  
"Achieved a state approaching Nirvana. You?"  
"Turned evil, turned back. Buried two lovers. Accidentally destroyed the line of the Slayers. Spent eight months trapped in a silver bottle. Moved to England. Ate the heart of this warlock from Andalusia for reasons I don't want to go into. Lost pretty much everybody I cared about through one form of neglect or another so now it's just me, Dawn and you standing between the world and its absolute destruction."  
Her old lover shakes his head.  
"Not just you me and Dawn?"  
"Umm... Miss 'I'm not used to having to explain myself'. I think he means he isn't going to help us."  
He nods.  
"But... the world. The apocalypse. Death, destruction. You're not going to help us?"  
"No."  
"But... but why?"  
"Its about taking sides. I don't take sides."  
"But...?"  
"State approaching Nirvana. It's a thing."  
The soldier turns to her companion. "So. You've dragged us all the way out here for nothing."  
"I was sure that..."  
"I won't join you. But I can help you. An old friend of yours came by this way a while back. Needed help I could actually give her. Could still be around. There's this..."  
"Old abandoned temple?" asks the soldier  
"How'd you guess?"  
"Its always old temples. I'd bet it's not traceable to any identifiable cult or religion as well."  
"Actually I think it's Mithraic."  
"So is this and old friend or an _'old friend'_."  
"Told you all I will. It's a thing."  
"And you're _really_ just going to sit there and not help us?"  
A shrug. A nod. The two women leave, one looking somewhat more flustered than the other

* * *

In California the one eyed man is lying amazed in the Miltonian sense of the word. Slowly he comes to his feet. A voice comes from another room. 

"Alex honey. What are you doing?"  
"Nothing. I'm..." he fumbles for some plausible lie and falls as ever miserably flat. Neither he nor any of his friends had been remotely competent liars. Perhaps it went with the hero territory. "...thinking."  
The owner of the voice, a well preserved woman in her mid forties appears in the doorway. She has a look of long suffering amusement on her face. "Thinking huh?". The look of amusement turns to one of shock. "What the hell has happened to your eye"  
"You know that, it was... something else has happened hasn't it?"  
"It's glowing."  
"It's what?"  
"Glowing. What happened to you? What's going on?"  
"You know... what I told you. About Angela and... and my old friends?"  
"Yeah, look you've got _light_ coming out of you."  
"We fought demons"  
"You _what_? No that doesn't cover it. You **_what_**"  
"You're looking at me like I'm crazy."  
"I'm looking at you like you have pure white light coming out of the place where your left eye used to be. Why did you never tell me about this?"  
"Would you have believed me?"  
"No but... so Angela was... by demons? I thought you said it was all because of... you know... she who shall not be named. Was she some kind of witch or something?"  
"Yes, but she didn't call them up. There was... there was a thing... a situation. Choices were made and people died and she never even..."  
"So... what are you going to do?"  
"What I have to"  
"And what's that?"  
"Find her. Forgive her. Save her. Save the world. It's what we did."  
"You're sure?"  
"Look me in the eyes."  
The woman looks, her husband had always had one eye, and he was as reticent about how he had lost it as he had been about the details of the end of his first marriage. She had never been overly put off by the injury, but now where his left eye may once have been there was a deep white light that held joys and terrors and the beginnings and ends of worlds.  
"I'm sure"  
"So am I" 

* * *

On the outskirts of Istanbul the witch is in the middle of what she would never dream of calling a tirade

"I just don't understand it. We've got a world that's ending and he's just going to sit there"  
"It's his right"  
"It's bloody selfish"  
"Bloody? You really have got British. And anyway it's not selfish. There's a war coming and lots of people are going to die and nobody can be really sure which side is the right side and so really, he's just being careful."  
"Everybody's always careful. Sometimes you can't be careful. Sometimes you have to do what has to be done because somebody has to do it and it just seems like it's always me that's doing it. Ever since Buffy died. Before even. When I cast the spell that activated all the potentials I had no idea if I could handle it, I had no idea if it would kill me or kill _them_ or what but I did it and I faced the consequences. I brought Buffy back when we needed her and I sent her away again when it came to it. I've always been the one that got my hands dirty."  
"And Alex lost his wife and kids, and I killed my own daughter. Or had you forgotten?"  
"No... it's just..."  
"It's _just_ that even now, even after it nearly drove you mad and destroyed you, you're still in love with your own power. You don't do this because you have to, you do it because you can and because you like to feel like people need you. There's nothing wrong with that and we all feel the same way but... it's not like everybody's either with your or against you."  
"There really isn't a lot I can say to that."  
"I got a lot of practice with Buffy. If I could talk her down I can talk anybody down." they walk on a way before she adds. "And if it matters I am. With you that is."  
"Thanks. Look I'm sorry if I've been all controlley but... y'know..."  
"You're the single most powerful thing on two legs and don't see why you should take any crap from people you could kill with a thought." They walk on again in silence, then. "You know what you need."  
"If you say 'a girlfriend' I really will kill you with a thought" 

The two come to the old temple. It looks strangely similar to about 90% of all the other temples they have ever been in, be they druidic, vampiric, demonic or proto-Christian. Unlike practically every other temple they have been in this one does not come with a complimentary ambush. There is, indeed, only one figure in the temple, and she sits in a state of calm reflection in one corner. She is youngish, maybe late twenties, and dressed plainly and in white, without makeup or ornamentation. It is not the last person that the witch or the soldier expected to see, but it is certainly the last way they expected to see her. 

"Faith?" the exclamation comes at once from both women.  
"But you're..." continues the Witch, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her clothing  
"And you're..." adds the Soldier, attempting to express the words 'far far younger looking than you have any right to be' by waving her hands about ineffectually.  
"That's right." She smiles and there is no trace of the old glint in her eye. "So what brings you to this place?"  
The witch explains, and Faith listens, and then the soldier asks the obvious question. 

* * *


	6. Remissions

[Author's note. If this chapter looks a little different form the others, it's because I'm now uploading in word rather than HTML. If it took a little longer it's because I've been drawn into the seductive world of original fiction on fictionpress.com – if you're interested I post there under the same name and the profile's here . Okay I'll stop blatantly plugging now…] Reprise: Chapter 6 

The woman who had, for a while and only really to one person, been known as "the Dark Slayer" smiles at the witch and the soldier with just a trace of the old look about her.

"Yeah, course I am Dawnie. How else d'you think I'd stay looking like this."

"But… how did… how could" she is tense, looking almost ready to strikebut restrained by the knowledge that would probably be suicide even now. Perhaps especially now.

"You mean the soul thing? You even know what a soul is Dawnie?"

"More than you can know." And there is an edge of anger in her voice that Faith did not expect.

"Then you know its not you. It's a part of you. A real important part. But hey, when I had mine I killed a bunch of guys and went over to the big bad. A soul is, a soul is like B in the day. It's the little voice that says. 'You can't do that. It's wrong'. I don't need that any more, because I know already. I learned the hard way."

"But you're not… you're not even human any more."

"Y'know of all the people that could have said that to me Dawnie, I'd have thought you'd be the last."

"Can you stop calling me that."

"Sure D."

"Not changed a bit, have you? I mean apart from becoming a vampire and learning to wear clothes that aren't made of dead cow. You've got a demon in you and it's…"

"Just a demon, D. Never met a demon I couldn't take. Besides, half girl half demon, you saw the puppets, that's what a Slayer _is_"

"But… why? Why take the risk."

"Life, D. Your sister told me once that every Slayer had a death wish, she was right, more crazy messed up fast train to hell you are the better you'll be `cause you just won't care enough to hold back. That's why I was better than her, in the day – don't look at me like that you knew it and so did she – but I changed. After I came back to Sunnydale, after everything we did after we left, I had a place in the world and I didn't want to lose it, and I knew I would. I'd get old, I'd get slow and something would catch me and I'd be worm food."

"They never caught me."

"Luck, and things are different for you, you've got a choice. You can pull out when things get crazy. We can't. It's destiny."

"So you just… gave in and joined the ranks of the undead?"

"Seemed like the only thing to do. `Sides, you need me now, and I'm more use to you like this than, well than like you. Now come on, take me back to Scooby central, wherever that is these days, and fill me in on the details."

*          *            *

In a village in the Holy Land, the four strangers stand and survey the state of the kings of the world and the hearts of men. They were not, on the whole, pleased with what they saw but they were, they knew, uniquely well placed to reshape things such that they were more to their liking.

"I think," says the man in the veil, "that all our preparations are in place, insofar as they can be. Our armies are prepared, as are those of our until-recently-eternal foes and that we have delayed long enough. This being the case then, with of course the – haha - the word from my most esteemed sister Voice-of-Skies, then I suggest that we begin our offensive in earnest."

The silent woman smiles, and nods, and the man removes his veil, revealing a beauty beyond par or parallel, and throughout the village, wherever men but glanced outside and caught a glimpse of the Foretaste of Paradise, they died in joy.

*          *            *

It is some hours later, and two planes are winging their way to England. From the East a witch, a soldier and a vampire are making their way wearily back, the vampire lying under a blanket and pleading some form of nondescript headache whenever somebody asks precisely why she's sheltering like that. From the west meanwhile a man who has, for the best part of the decade, called himself "Alex" is flying with his second wife to what may be the final confrontation with a woman who, many years ago, he saved from herself. Both parties are riding somewhat lethargically to war, both sides driven by visions of a brave new world where nothing is left unchanged.

*          *            *

It was as good as tomorrow when the three women got back to the house where the witch lives in all senses but the official. The house, having been purchased originally as a staging post for Scooby meetings is reasonably well appointed with guest space. Faith, being used to living in an abandoned temple is happy to take the ersatz bed-cum-holding-pen in the cellar which had been designed more for less willing undead inhabitants. The witch of course has a room of her own, but is in her doubly jetlagged state a little shocked at first to find it inhabited by the girl Sarah who, she finally recalls, had been staying here to look after Giles while they have been away. She creeps downstairs to find sofa space, and finds the soldier in the kitchen eating cereal

"Why are you…?"

"I'm hungry, who says you can only eat cereal when you wake up? Why aren't you in bed?"

"Sarah. And don't look at me like that."

"I bet she looks cute. Everybody looks cute when they're asleep."

"I've just been to Istanbul and back, met an old boyfriend and an old enemy and found the one I thought would be on my side wasn't. I'm tired, and a little stinky, and I just want to sleep, so about now she's looking like an evil bitch monster who stole my nice comfy bed."

"Yeah, but a cute evil bitch monster who stole your nice comfy bed. You want me to pour you some cereal?"

"No thank you. I am going to pass out on the sofa, and tomorrow I am going to wake up and I am going to have a spectacular plan to save the world. I am confident I will succeed in at least one of these aims. Hopefully two."

The night passes without event. More precisely about five hours pass without event before the witch is awoken by clattering from the kitchen.

"Sorry Miss R. Didn't mean to wake you but Rupert really needs to be kept to his routine or it confuses him."

"Not a problem Sarah, not a problem at all I was… just planning on getting up"

"You're a terrible liar Miss R."

"Okay I was actually planning on sleeping until October, but since I'm up if you could make me a cup of tea I would love you until the end of time."

"Simple thank you will be enough Miss R. I've finished that article by the way if you're interested."

"Article?"

"My article. On the relevance of Gardenerian philosophy… sorry you've probably had more important things on your mind" there is just the faintest note of disappointment in her voice.

"Oh that article. Sorry it's early and I've been busy."

"I understand. Not back saving the world are you?"

"Umm… yes actually."

"Really? If you need any help in that whole… with… you know spells and things."

"No!" and the urgency and sharpness of her tone surprises even herself. "This sort of thing is dangerous. Really dangerous. It's not a game, it's not something you just get into for a while and give up and move on. Best-case scenario you die young in some pointless fight with a thing from another dimension, worst case you wind up like…"

"Like you, Miss R. I can think of worse ways to wind up. I mean I've always rather admired you…"

"And I can't stop you, but trust me you don't want to wind up like me, and you certainly don't want to…" the witch cuts herself short. I should not, she muses, be having this kind of conversation in this state of mind.

"Don't want to what?" the girl is bright, innocent and honest, and hanging on the witch's every word.

"to… wind up how I could have wound up. I've been lucky."

"You know Miss R you really _are_ a bad liar" there is an almost mischievous glint in the young woman's eye.

"News!" cries the witch in a desperate effort to change the subject. "Should really check the news to see if there's any of that end of the world happening anywhere…"

So saying she switches the television on, and is greeted by a newscaster of sober demeanour.

"That's convenient."

"What is?"

"How you just turned on the TV and there just happened to be a news bulletin on."

"Yeah, happens a lot, I think it's a destiny thing. That or it's just News 24."

"…crews attempted to make contact with the village, but no word has been heard. Reports from the area suggest that the entire village has vanished from the face of the earth. Militant groups in the area have denied responsibility"

"Damn. Get Dawn – Mrs Charteris – and there's a woman in the basement – the cellar"

"I know what a basement is, I do watch TV Miss R. Umm… did you say there's a woman in the cellar."

"Yeah. Oh in case you're wondering…"

"It's okay Miss R, I've seen it before. I'm very open minded."

"It's for demons."

"As I say Miss R, you are a very bad liar. Anyway what should I tell them."

"That it's starting. Really starting."

*          *            *

Over a village now empty, the four strangers stand triumphant, it is a small start, but it is a start. The silent woman smiles to herself, as she often does, and nods to the black-cloaked figure. The cloak is cast back, to reveal a woman tall and dark and majestic, she rises into the air carried by six dark wings, she cries to the sky and her voice is judgement.


End file.
